


Camp Ryden

by dazylein



Category: Bandom, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Aliens, Alternate Universe - Summer Camp, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-14
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-10-30 20:21:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 21,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10884243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dazylein/pseuds/dazylein
Summary: Spencer owes him. Going to summer camp and being eaten alive by mosquitoes was a bad idea to begin with, but count on Ryan’s bad luck and it only gets worse. Especially when he manages to get himself lost in the mountains and meets the hot guy who says is an alien.“I am from up there.”Abruptly, I snap my head back and stare at Brendon, who’s pointing at the sky.“Heaven?” Maybe Brendon’s cult is super religious and brainwashed him into thinking he’s been resurrected or something.He bites his bottom lip, but his upper one shoots upwards. Oh fuck, is he laughing at me? I’m not the one who’s naked and claiming he’s from the sky.





	1. Camp Nada

**Author's Note:**

> Hi :) I wasn't sure how to properly tag this, so I'll just mention it quickly in here. This fic is told in Ryan's POV and his head-space isn't all that great at times. There's a lot of self-worthlessness and some body-image issues going on between the fluffy scenes. I don't know if it's enough to be triggering or not, but just be aware that there are some dark, angsty scenes in this fic.

Remember those tedious get-to-know-you games you’re forced to play at social events? This one game in particular where you had to come up with a word that starts with the same letter as your name but also describes you? Well, hello there, my name is George Ryan Ross III, and I am grotesque, repugnant, and reticent.  

Spencer, next to me, shakes his head in disappointment. Everyone else in the group circle either stares at me in shock or has this awkward smile plastered on their lips that obviously shows they aren’t sure whether or not I’d made a joke. I hadn’t. Honesty is underrated and I’m just trying to fix this problem, telling one truth at a time.  

Spencer clears his throat loudly in attempt to get the group’s attention on him and away from me.  

“Hi, I’m Spencer James Smith and I’m single, joyful, and sexy.” He winks playfully, and the few girls in our circle begin to giggle. I try my best not to roll my eyes. He should’ve used the words sociable, jocund, and successful. They describe him much better.  

After Spencer, one more guy introduces himself and then we’re finally, _finally_ , allowed to go back into the main cottage where there’s air conditioning and dinner is being served. My stomach has already shrunken to the size of a single pea and I eagerly grab two chocolate puddings when Spencer and I pass the dessert section.

“Only one pudding per person, buddy.” One of the camp’s instructor smiles fake-apologetically and it’s good I’m holding the tray with both my hands; otherwise, I’d flip him off.

“I’ll give you mine,” Spencer promises and I mutter a thanks. He’s a good friend like that and I feel bad for being so shitty in return.

“Spencer, come sit with us!” A girl that was in our group earlier calls out and seriously? Spencer has said a single sentence in this godforsaken summer camp and already people yearn to be in his presence. I also don’t fail to notice that I hadn’t been invited to the table.

Regardless, I follow Spencer and we sit down together on the wooden benches. As promised, he hands me his pudding and I give him my salad. It’s a fair exchange that I hope we’ll keep up for the next two weeks that we’re stuck in this shithole. The people at our table start chatting away as I begin to eat in silence.

“We’re from Vegas, me and Ry,” Spencer is now telling his audience of fresh admirers. It’s him and I, I feel obligated to correct him, yet I keep my mouth shut. Let Spencer shun grammar, while I continue to shun people.

Dinner is an hour long. I finish my puddings in five minutes, ignoring the ill-looking mash potatoes that are supposed to be the main dish, and stare out the window that looms behind the red-haired girl sitting across from me.

Trees. Trees and mountains. That’s all there is to see. Even Las Vegas is more interesting than this place. I watch the branches move in the wind for the next fifty-five minutes, absent-minded to the group conversation.

“So what’s next on the schedule?” Spencer asks. He’s not directing the question at me, of course. Hell, I don’t even know the official name of this camp. I just refer to it as the Nada Camp. Call it by what it really is, sticking with the truth like the diligent man I am.

“Oh!” One of the girls exclaims all excited over Spencer’s question. What are we going to do? Make a bonfire, roast marshmallows and sing some good ol' country songs, before it gets too dark and then we’ll go out for a hike, telling ghost stories?

“We’re having a big campfire out by the mountains.”

I try my best to suppress the groan that’s just waiting to escape my lips and, in return, get a dirty stare from some random girl sitting beside me. I feel her eyes still trained on me and, why won’t she quit looking at me? I scratch my cheek self-consciously, hoping I don’t have some pudding smears on my face that have caught her attention. Maybe it’s my face in general that’s bothering her. But whatever, it’s not like I care about her opinion, or anyone else’s in this camp for that matter.  

I groan a bit more, fixing my gaze to the tree whipping its arms outside and completely ignoring the others at the table (especially that girl). I try focusing on my misery instead. Two weeks of uncreative, boring activities. _Ugh._ The aspect of it makes me want to storm out this place and hop on the first plane home. Fuck _me_. What did I even do to deserve this? 

 

There are no marshmallows, I observe with contempt. The mountains are a twenty-minute walk away from the camp and I will rip my ears off if I have to hear one more scout song. Trusty Tommy can go fuck himself for all I care.  

One of the instructors brought his guitar. The same guy that wouldn’t let me have a second serving of pudding. I give him a dirty look that he generously ignores.

As I’d predicted earlier, mostly countries songs are being played, mixed in with some _Old McDonald_ and _My Bonnie is over the Ocean_. No rock music, of course. Because rock stars don’t go camping, which brings me back to wondering why I’m even here in the first place. When Spencer had shown me the flyer (falsely advertising this camp), he’d said it would be fun. A _fun_ break away from our parents. I should never have agreed to this. When dad’s drinking himself to oblivion I can at least escape to my room. Here? I’m stuck hearing shitty lyrics about dirt roads and being eaten alive by mosquitoes.

“Anyone wanna take over?” The instructor offers his guitar to the rest of us, shaking his hand demonstratively like it’s already sore from playing for barely an hour. Amateur.

Apparently nobody else in this pathetic group of people can play. Some boy with a cast on his arm says that he would love to, but obviously can’t with a broken wrist. Silence emerges and I hope this means we’ll go back to the base now.

“No one else but Jon can play the guitar?” The instructor asks in disbelief. I catch Spencer staring at me. Don’t you dare.

But before my supposedly best friend can out me as a guitarist, the instructor starts talking again.

“Guess we’re ready for ghost stories then!”

Everyone shrieks with glee and surprise. Yes, I’m totally shocked too. Who would’ve suspected the idea of telling some scary tales in the middle of the night while we all sit around a campfire? It’s not cliché at all, excluding the current lack of marshmallows and s’mores. I’m still pissed off about it and my stomach is audibly supporting my disapproval.

The stories are bland at best. I try to be polite and not yawn. Then again, maybe if they see how tired and worn out everyone is, we stop socializing and I am free to hide in the bunkbed that I’m sharing with Spencer. I’ll sleep in the top one of course. Spencer’s scared of heights.  

Trying to set my genius plan into action, I wait until someone accidentally makes eye contact with me. The red haired girl from dinner becomes the transmitter. Her green eyes land on me and I instantly yawn. Yawns are contagious, and seconds later she’s mimicking me, clasping a hand in front of her mouth like that’s going to help stop the epidemic I started. The yawning spreads like a virus and I mentally pad myself on the back. Good one, Ross. I didn’t have any faith in my plan, to be honest, but soon enough the instructor announces that one more story is to be told, and then it’s time to hit the sacks.  

A kid with bleach blonde hair volunteers and starts rambling on about vampires. His is the first story that’s not about ghosts. Kudos to him, though I still don’t pay him any attention.  

 

The mattress is worn out and squeaks every time I move. Spencer and the other two boys in our little cottage are already asleep. I know because I can hear each of their distinct snores filling the eerie night with noise. I curse myself for not having an efficient sleep schedule.

At home, I stay out until three or four in the morning, and then crash for a few hours on my _comfortable_ bed. So even if the mattress here wasn’t complete shit, my brain wouldn’t be tired by now anyways. I’m wide awake, staring at the wooden ceiling, contemplating life.

Apparently breakfast here is served from seven to eight. I can’t decide if I’m going to starve or die of sleep deprivation first. I roll onto my back and immediately regret it. My ass hurts from having to sit two hours on a fucking tree trunk. Thinking back to the campfire reminds me of all the bugs that attacked me and I instantly begin to scratch my skin.

I hate camping. This is all Spencer’s fault. His and his stupid persuasion skills.   

 

A horn wakes me up. That’s right, a fucking horn. The two other boys in our cabin are already dressed and ready to go to breakfast. I’m happy that at least Spencer is still in his bed, muttering curses and hating the world. Spencer’s not a morning person. That’s probably why we became friends. School was too early for him, and I was the six-year-old kid that never spoke a word in class. We make a good team, Spence and me.

I fall back asleep, deciding that starvation is the way to go. A knock on the wooden door obviously disagrees with me.  

“Wake up, campers! Breakfast is waiting and we have a long day ahead of us!” The chirpy voice of that fucking instructor says. Spencer groans and I open my eyes long enough to look at the cuckoo’s clock on the wall. 7:15.  

“This was your idea,” I remind Spencer when we both sleep drunkenly stagger to the main cottage that is fancily referred to as the dining hall.

“Coffee,” Spencer replies, his voice raspy.  

We get into the building, waiting for the divine smell of caffeine to hit our nostrils.

It never comes.

“Coffee?” Spencer says again, though this time enunciating it as a desperate question.

Someone must’ve heard him, because we get pointed to the liquids section.

There’s apple juice, orange juice, milk, and black tea. No coffee. If I had enough strength, I would scream. I don’t. Spencer sighs and fills his cup with tea.  

“This was a bad idea,” he admits.  

No shit, Spence.  

 

The day drags on like the world just can’t be bothered to spin around its axis at normal speed. Spencer has woken up by now and is back to being his cheerful, loveable self. I’m left alone in the boat of misery. Everyone else seems to be having the time of their life. I can’t decide whether or not to be jealous. Sure, this camp would be less painful if I was capable of enjoying it, but at the same time I’d rather not degrade my brain and live in a world where I’d consider this a worthy place to spend my time in.

“I can’t wait to go canoeing tomorrow!” Spencer gushes before he remembers that it’s me he’s talking to. He tones down his excitement and throws an arm around my shoulder. I feel his fingers resting on my shoulder bone through my t-shirt and try not to cringe. I hate it when people touch my bones. I know it disgusts them. If they wanted to touch a skeleton, they wouldn’t go for the one still breathing. Spencer might’ve gotten used to my skinny frame though, but I’m not entirely sure. It’s not like I share these thoughts with him.

“C’mon Ry, stop moping around and appreciate nature,” he now says and I try not to roll my eyes too much. “The people here aren’t even _that_ bad once you get to know them.”

“But I don’t want to get to know them.”

“Then what do you plan on doing for the next two weeks?”

“Try not to die. Imagine what I could be doing were I not stuck here. Sleep, although that’s a more challenging one. Hmm… what else?”

Spencer groans in frustration and finally lifts his hand off me. “Stop being so cynical. Just promise me you’ll at least try to have fun, okay?”

He looks at me, all puppy eyes and glimmering hope.

“Fine, I give this shithole a chance,” I amend.

“That’s the spirit!” Spencer grins and promptly trips over a tree root sticking out of the ground. His face lands in a pile of leaves and mud gets all over his clothes.

“Fuck,” he swears and I burst out laughing.

“Wow Spence,” I say, still grinning. “Your ways of embracing nature are admirable.”

He gives me the middle finger before he gets up. He’s holding mud in his other hand.

“Don’t you dare,” I warn him before he throws it at me. I don’t close my mouth quickly enough and the taste of dirt violates my tongue.

“Boys, boys, boys, boys,” the instructor calls out in shock when he sees us both covered in dirt. I wonder how much this man hates me already. Most people start after they’ve known me for a good month, but I guess this guy’s an expeditor. Or maybe it’s because I’m stuck with him almost 24/7, when my average socializing extends to maybe six hours per week. Going to this camp was therefore a marvelous idea, it forces me to get out of my comfort zone. I don’t regret coming here one bit. Nope, not me, happy go lucky scout Ryan.

Can’t wait go canoeing tomorrow.


	2. Up, up, up to the Mountaintop

The apocalypse would be more pleasant than sitting in this boat with these idiots, trying not to fall into the water for the _sixth_ time. Despite the hot, beaming sun that will definitely give me a sunburn, the river we’re forced to canoe in is really fucking cold. On top of that, Spencer’s sharing a canoe with someone else and I’m stuck with morons that keep dipping the canoe over. I swear they do it on purpose just to spite me. We’re the last group, too. I bet Spencer’s already at the other bank, his partner looked like an athlete.  

“Let’s just try this again,” the overly happy, already too familiar man says. Oh yeah, did I forget to mention that the fucking instructor is in my group? His name’s Patrick Stump, by the way. I’ve actually bothered to learn his name, not voluntarily, but it’s hard to stay ignorant when Jon keeps saying it. That’s right, the kid with the broken wrist is trying to paddle a goddamn canoe. He’s the reason why we’re in the three-seat canoe, so _Patrick_ could come help us. Everyone else got a normal, two seat canoe. I’m still angry I’m not with Spencer, but they wouldn’t let us choose our own partners. I bet Patrick paired me up with castboy on purpose. I knew he hated me from day one. At least our feelings are mutual.

Jon’s lifting his arm again and oh look! Look at us falling into the water again. I’m pretty sure the kid can’t even swim, because Patrick keeps having to help him back into the canoe. Or maybe it’s his cast. I don’t know. I don’t care to ask.

“Okay, Jon, why don’t we let you sit in the middle for a while?” Patrick’s optimism is drowning me almost as much as the water that got into my mouth. I spit it out, hoping I didn’t accidentally swallow a mini fish. The other two laugh at me like maniacs. So far I’ve resisted the urge to push either of them off the boat, mainly because it wouldn’t be very satisfying when we’ll end up in the water every two damn seconds anyways.  

“Ready?” Patrick asks and as merry as the day is long, we paddle on. Or try to at least.

 

By the time we get back on land and I’ve changed into dry clothes, I’m late for dinner.  

“Fuck it,” I murmur to myself, ignoring my protesting stomach. I haven’t properly eaten or slept since we got here. One more missed meal won’t make a difference at this point.

Instead of going to the dining hall, I go the opposite way, back into the woods towards the mountains. I don’t want to stay in the cabin. It’s hot in there and soon enough Spencer and the other two boys will be back and then it will be loud and I just really need to get away from people right now.

Equipped with my notebook and pen, I start my journey.

I don’t know how long I walk for, but eventually, I reach the mountains and find a cozy enough rock to sit on. It’s not dark yet, not that it isn’t late. The sun just hangs around here forever. Were we in Vegas at this time, it’d be dark in the sky. The night only illuminated by casino lights and cheap chapels.

I stare at the blank page in my notebook, write down thoughts that get scratched out immediately. For some reason, I’m unable to write. It’s unusual. Normally I write best when I’m miserable, which should mean that, in theory, I’d be writing my best work right now. Unfortunately, that’s not the case.

I sigh, exaggeratedly loud since no one’s here but me, and give up on my pathetic attempt to write. I close the notebook and pocket the pen. I stand up, look around.

“Shit,” I say, realizing I have no idea where I came from. “Shit, shit, shit, shit.” Each shit is louder than the last and I end up screaming curses. Fuck me and this stupid fucking camp. I am so going to die out here.  

My stomach decides to chime in, though I try to tell it to shut up. No time to be tired or hungry right now, I have to get back to the camp before a bear or something eats me first. I dig out my phone, surely Spencer will find a way to save me, but of fucking course there is no service up here. I’d throw the phone against the mountains and smash it, were I not so desperately clinging to the hope for a miracle, that there’s signal somewhere.

I sit back down on the rock, overly aware of my constant bad luck. Of course, this had to happen to me, of course. Who else, right? I should’ve just gone to dinner or stayed in the cabin, wait for the others to come back. Not been this stupid and go off on my own.

I would beat myself up over it, but there’s no use crying over spilled milk. Except that there’s nothing else to do here. It’s getting darker now too. The snow on the mountain peaks further away are glistening in the sunset. It looks pretty, but then it also occurs to me that I’m at high altitude and there is snow on the mountains and the sun is disappearing.

Add hypothermia to the steadily increasing list of how I will die.

I climb up a bit higher, find a rock that’s flat and long enough for me to lay down on. At least non-climbing things can't get me now. Hell, I don’t even know what kind of animals are supposed to live here. Good job, Ryan, way to survive.

I close my eyes and rest. I don’t even pretend to try to sleep. I’m out alone in the wilderness, I’m not ashamed to say I’m scared shitless.  

Spencer must have noticed my absence by now. Surely people are looking for me. They must be. Except that nothing happens. No one comes. The silence is eerie. If you can even call it that. Silence. It’s not silent. The wind is howling, leaves are rustling, branches are creaking. I _wished_ it was silent.

Just when I am about to get used to my goose bumps and increased heartbeat, I hear an explosion. I flinch. Unable to move. Was that thunder? Whatever it was, it’s come to kill me. I’m sure of it.

Or maybe it’s the camp people, giving me a sign. Don’t they do that? Light up some special fireworks and shoot red sparks into the sky.

I unwillingly open my eyes, half-expecting a moose to be inches away from me. Nothing’s there, I’m still alone. The sky shows only glimmering stars, nothing else. No sign I’m getting rescued.

Fuck, I’m so screwed. I’m such a fuck up. When they find my rotten corpse and dad hears about my passing, he’ll laugh at my incompatibility. ‘You in a camp?’ He had asked me full of disbelief, ‘You won’t survive a week out there.’ Turns out he was right. It really is a-

There it is again. Shit. What on earth is that noise?

It’s not an explosion. It’s- it’s something I can’t even describe. Like a mix between fireworks and vacuum cleaner. It’s fucking strange. That’s what it is.

 

And it keeps going.  

 

“Oh my fucking God,” I whisper annoyed. Whatever the hell is causing that noise is either a really fucked up bird, or not an animal at all. It’s almost two in the morning (I checked the time on my phone), and that shit has been going on since midnight. I've moved on from being scared. If I survived the past few hours, I might just make it until morning. Or maybe I’m just overtired and don’t have the energy for my fight-or-flight response to kick in.  

I’m normally not one to make bad decisions, like playing with the idea of checking out the mystery noise. But it’s really not such a bad idea, the more I think about it. I mean, what’s the worst that could happen, right?

I stand up, still slightly unsure whether or not I’m about to dig my own grave. Oh well, better me than someone else.

My eyes quickly adjust to the dark and I realize that the noise is coming from higher up. I’ve climbed up this far already. I’ll probably be able to go a bit further. I pull out my phone again and turn the flashlight on. It helps a little. I start to climb, almost dropping multiple times. Will I fall straight into hell if I slip?

Sweat is rolling down my face by the time I reach the top. Not the top of the mountains. But there’s a huge area of grassland before the next chunk of steeper mountains start, the types that have the snow on top and all. I look down to the ground. I’m not even that high up. 30 feet or so. Not high at all. The noise has gotten louder though and I walk a few minutes around the meadow until I locate its source.

What the _fuck_? I want to scream. Nothing but air escapes my lungs. Paralyzed I stand staring.  

Glass is everywhere. Some big pieces seem to have melted around the edges. This whole scene looks like a meteor has hit. The start of the apocalypse. I feel my heart thudding against my chest. Hear myself breathing. I can’t move. One shard of glass is blinking red and I think it’s this piece that’s making the weird noise. Everything is so surreal. Maybe I’m dreaming. I really want to be. I’d be catching up on sleep and not questioning my sanity.

“Hello.”  


	3. Homeless, Hippie, or a Psycho

Run. My thoughts yell. Fucking run, Ryan. My feet stay put. I stare at the boy who’s appeared out of nowhere.

I should be relieved to see a human being. As ridiculous as it sounds, I seriously thought some kind of Superman or E.T. had crash landed here. Because that’s _exactly_ what this place looks like. But, no. It’s just this boy.  

He looks like he’s in his early twenties, a few years older than me. It’s not hard guessing his age since he’s naked. No deceiving clothes to cover up the awkward adolescent years; the way I try to do with mine. Nope, this boy is fully grown. He’s clean-shaven, too. Like those twenty-some-year-old actors that play in high school movies. Like he's supposed to make himself younger but his exposed body is giving away his real age. And why the fuck is he even naked?

I conclude that he is either homeless, a hippie, or a psycho and I really hope it’s not the latter.

“Hello,” he says again, but makes no further attempt to come towards me. Good. Stay away from me. His voice is soft. Too soft, like it’s rehearsed. I still can’t move.

His hand is stretched out towards me, like he wants me to shake it or something. I don’t blink. He doesn’t either. Just stares at me with confusion written all over his face. I’m more and more convinced he’s a psycho.  

“I was told it is common courtesy to shake hands,” he explains and for some unexplainable reason, I feel myself blush. So what if I’m not showing any manners towards this weirdo?

He’s still looking at me incessantly with those large, brown eyes that make him appear innocent. I don’t fall for it. It’s always the harmless looking ones that end up being the killers. He’s waiting for me to do something. I finally manage to clear my throat.

“Uh, hi?”  

As soon as I say it, the boy breaks out into a wide smile. It’s not a creepy smile, it’s charming, actually. He’s got big lips and brilliant white teeth. Were I not so creeped out by him, I’d probably find him attractive. Not in the Christian Bale kind of way, there’s some unique personality in his face that’s alluring.  

“So, uhh,” I stutter, searching for words. “What are you doing here…naked?”

I blush even further but the guy remains smiling.

“I have come here to learn.”  

“About nature?”

He nods enthusiastically. “Yes, nature and animals. It is very extraordinary. You live in a beautiful place.”

I knew this guy was a nutcase.  

“I uh, don’t live here.” I can’t seem to form a sentence without the word uh in it. If uh even is an official word. I scratch my head like it will help my brain to start thinking properly again.

He looks disappointed, breaking eye contact with me for the first time. Sorry I’m not a primitive. “Where are you from?”

“Vegas,” I say, but his face remains blank. “Las Vegas, it’s in Nevada.” The words are out before I can stop myself from giving away my personal information.

His eyes shine up again. “Sin City!” he exclaims excitedly. “What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.” He looks at me proudly, almost waiting for me to congratulate him that he’s able to recite the tagline. I roll my eyes, instead. He disapproves. I don’t know how I can tell that he does, it’s not like he moves or huffs, but it’s still clear somehow and it’s unfair that it’s making me feel guilty.

“Where’re you from, then?” I ask to break the tension.

He’s back to looking at me strangely. Maybe he doesn’t have a home. Hit his head somewhere and can't remember who he is. Got dissociative fugue. Or he could have gotten kidnapped; it would explain his lack of clothing.  

“Brendon?” He finally says, sounding unsure of himself.

“You’re from Brandon?” I clarify. Not that I have any clue where the fuck that is.

“No,” he says sternly, shaking his head. “My name is Brendon.”

Right. “Well, uh, nice to meet you, Brendon.”

He breaks into a dazzling smile. “Pleasure is all mine.” It’s an automatic response. He says it automatically too. I still can’t help but smile back, feeling flattered that this insanely hot guy is talking to me.

Silence emerges on us again. Brendon seems content with staring at me. I’d stare back too if my eyes wouldn’t start traveling south every time I did. Despite having a small frame, he’s got broad shoulders and muscular arms. I’m pretty sure his stomach is taunt too, but I don’t risk looking that far down again. Clearly, the guy isn’t in the right mindset to comprehend his state of nudity properly. I don’t want to be a pervert and take advantage.

My legs get tired from standing so I sit down in the grass. Brendon immediately mimics me, sitting cross legged opposite me.  

“What is your name?” He inquires. It probably only just occurred to him that he introduced himself whereas I hadn’t. My eyes shoot up, away from his prominent collarbone, and I look right into his chocolate brown eyes.

“Ryan.”

“Ryan,” Brendon repeats, like it’s a foreign word he’s never heard before, and when he enunciates the last syllable, his mouth stays open in a half-sort-of-smile.  

“So what’s that noise coming from the glass shred?” I ask, because the sound still hasn’t stopped and it’s annoying the hell out of me.  

“A signal.”

Okay then. “Can you turn it off?”

He looks hesitant, conflicted. Eventually, he nods.  “Yes,” he says and gets up on his feet. He turns around to walk back to the wreckage and the blinking red light. I watch the grass, trying my best to avoid looking at his naked butt.

Soon enough the noise dies down. The new stillness of the night a peculiar sound.  

“What are you looking at?”

I lift my head and find Brendon in his former position on the ground. His gaze at me is full of childlike interest. He could’ve easily killed me by now if he was dangerous. And now that I’ve decided he isn’t imposing any mortal threat towards me, I naturally start worrying about something else.

“Do you remember hitting your head?” I ask, because we’re the only two people up here. If he dies before we get rescued, I’ll probably become a murder suspect. As shitty as the camp is, I’d choose it over prison.

“No,” Brendon answers, but I don’t trust him to know if he did.

“Do you, uh- Would you mind if I check?”

“No.”

I curse myself for phrasing the question the way I did. Was his no a “No, I don’t mind” or a “No, don’t touch me” no? Whatever, me checking him out is for his own good.

He watches me with curiosity as I stand up and walk the few steps towards him.

“I’m just going to examine your head, okay?” I explain to him in clear words, because some untrusting part in me is scared he's going to go all ninja on me if I touch him.

“Okay.”

I gingerly rest my fingertips in his hair. Now that the signal light has been turned off it’s hard to see. I try to grope his scalp, trying to spot a bump or abrasion but feel nothing of that sort. His hair is short and soft. He’s got dark brown hair, as far as I can tell with the moonlight as my only light source. I inspect him meticulously, only now realizing how cold my fingers are as I card them through his warm locks.  

“You seem to be alright,” I inform him and awkwardly pat the top of his head before I can register what the hell I’m doing. I quickly draw my hand back.

Brendon cranes his neck to look at me. His face is suddenly too close to mine and I take a step back. I make a big loop around him before I’m back to my original position and we’re facing each other properly again at safe distance.

“Do you remember how you got here?”

“Here?” He tilts his head, like _I’m_ the one that’s not in his right mindset.

“Yeah, like, here in the middle of the mountains. Did someone drop you off?”

Brendon nods, somehow relieved. “Yes, I was dropped off.”

“By whom?”

“My family.”

Oh dear. He’s an outcast. “Why?” I ask to make sure.

“To learn.” His smile is back in place and he looks adorable. What kind of fucked up family did he come from, one that would leave him here in the middle of goddamn nowhere? Maybe he’s from a cult or something. He’s the right age to reach manhood. Maybe this is some kind of test of some sort.

“Where are you from, Brendon?” I realize he still hasn’t told me.

Brendon’s eyes linger on me. His gaze calculating, trying to read my face. He won’t tell me.

“You can trust me,” I assure since that apparently seems to be the problem.

His lips stay pursed together, he shakes his head slightly.

“Look.” I summon my inner Spencer to persuade Brendon, “I can’t help you if I know nothing about you. I told you where I’m from, right?”

“Las Vegas,” Brendon mutters. It’s the first time I’ve heard him speak this quietly.

“Yes, I live there with my dad. My friend Spencer and I, we came here to go to this camp. I don’t really like the camp, so I went for a walk yesterday. But I got lost and ended up staying a bit lower over there by the mountains.” I motion towards the general area I came from. “Then I heard the noise of your signal light and went up to check out what it was. That’s how I found you.” I tell him all this, in hope that if I share my experience, he will tell me his in return.

My attempt seems futile, though. Brendon ignores my presence and starts to play with the grass. He’s not ripping it out, just running his fingers through the stalks over and over again. He seems amazed by the task.

“I am not from here,” he whispers eventually, finally admitting to something.

I don’t reply. He knows that’s not what I asked.

The silence stretches between us. Brendon won’t look at me. After all the staring from before, it’s weird to not have his eyes trained on me. I try to occupy myself with something different and lift my head to the sky. You can’t really see the stars in Vegas unless you drive further out into the country. Here, the sky is full of them. I search for a constellation, but all I can make out are little, shining dots spread out at random.

“I am from up there.”

Abruptly I snap my head back and stare at Brendon, who’s pointing at the sky.

“Heaven?” Maybe Brendon’s cult is super religious and brainwashed him into thinking he’s been resurrected or something.

He bites his bottom lip, but his upper one shoots upwards. Oh fuck, is he laughing at me? I’m not the one who’s naked and claiming he’s from the sky.

“No,” Brendon grins. “You humans and your gods.”

Excuse me? But I’m not that polite to him. “What?” I burst out saying instead. Does he not classify himself as a person?

Brendon gets up and goes back to where all the glass chips are. He picks one of the bigger pieces up and returns to me, flopping himself into the grass beside me. His body is radiating heat and clashes with the chilly air of the night. I’m surprised he’s not freezing. Even with clothes on, I’m cold. Then again, I’m not used to this weather, coming from the desert and all. Maybe Brendon’s from Canada or something.

“Look through this,” he orders and holds the splinter in front of my eyes. “Now look back up at the sky.”

It’s all too absurd for me to not obey. I feel like an idiot as I tilt my head back and stare through the broken piece of glass. But it’s not the same night sky I saw a minute ago. The one where the stars were minuscule light bulbs. I gasp and hear Brendon's chuckle beside me. What. The. Fuck?

The stars aren’t stars but huge fireballs with craters and nebulae surrounding them like cigarette smoke. The sky isn’t dark anymore but this weird shade of blue and purple, I’m not even sure if I’ve seen this color before. Something golden shoots across, it’s traveling too quickly for me to make out what it is, but it’s mesmerizing. All of it. No longer do the stars all look alike. Hell, I don’t even know if I’m looking at the same set of asteroids anymore.

“Do you see this star over there?” Brendon’s finger is in my line of vision and it’s easy to see what he’s pointing at. “That’s where I’m from.”

I force myself to tear my gaze off the transformed sky to look at him. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

This cannot be real. Surely, there is a reasonable explanation for how the glass works. There has to be. I probably am dreaming, after all. It’s the only plausible explanation.

Brendon just smirks, like now that I’m starting to question my own sanity, he’s the one in control. “You wanted to know where I come from.”

“But you’re human!” I exclaim, and, as a second thought, add, “And there’s no life out there anyways. You’re not an alien for Christ’s sake.”

“You promised I could trust you, Ryan. You can trust me, too.” His voice is soft, similar to the way I spoke to him when I thought he’d bumped his head.

“This is impossible,” I mutter, more to remind myself than to argue with him.

“It is not. Broaden your horizon.” He chuckles, because ha ha, outer space jokes are so funny.

“You’re not an alien.”

“Yes, I am.”

“No, you’re not.” I argue like a five year old, but I don’t want to wrap my head around it. I can’t. My eyes travel over his features, trying to find something that would make him look inhuman. There’s nothing. Of course there isn’t. Brendon’s crazy and I’m tired and his delusions are affecting me.

“Prove it, then,” I say and Brendon still looks amused.

“I came to earth by this,” he points at the glass wreckage. “It is a spacecraft.”

“Sure it is,” my voice is dripping with sarcasm even if I’m slowly starting to freak out on the inside. What else would explain this whole fucking scenario? Of course, Brendon’s theory is cockamamie, but I fail to come up with anything more reasonable.

“But you’re human,” I point out stubbornly. An immaculate, almost-too-perfect-to-be-real, human, but a human nonetheless. “You don’t look like fucking ET.”

“I had to change forms. My celestial presence would not survive on this planet.” With a proud grin, he adds, “I designed this body myself. Do you like it?”

“I do. Good job,” I mutter absently. My thoughts are reeling like crazy. ‘Crazy’ being an excellent word choice. “But,” I speak out loud as I process, “Why you, of all aliens? And why am I the one who found you? And why now? It’s not like humans _just_ started to exist. We’ve been here for thousands of years.”

Brendon smiles sheepishly. “A thousand human years is not a long time, Ryan. And I am not the first of my kind to have visited earth. We go on expenditures to different planets all the time. Many of my family are here, but not all of us choose to disguise as humans. We can become trees, mammals, fish- anything that lives.”

“Then why isn’t this a well-known thing? If you’ve been here for God knows how many years, why isn’t there any research or proof of your existence?” I’m asking questions like I actually believe him. How tired am I that I’m actually buying this crap?

“Not many of us choose to be humans. Most are dogs or cats. We are not supposed to tell you about us. We come here to learn. We do not plan to interfere with your planet.”

“But you told me.”

“You said I could trust you. And besides,” he smiles sympathetically, like I’m a little bit on the dull side. “You barely believe me when I have shown you proof. Who would you tell? Who would believe you, just based on your words?”

He’s got a point there.

“Fine,” I give in annoyed. I’m too exhausted to argue this any further. I lay down on my back demonstratively. The grass is surprisingly comfortable. “Do you sleep?” I ask Brendon, who’s still sitting next to me.

He nods. “My body functions almost the same way yours does.”

I raise an eyebrow, “Almost?”

“Yes.” He doesn’t add anything else and my head is already at the brim of exploding, so I don’t try to get him to explain his alien body in detail to me.

I shut my eyes, try to fall asleep, but I know Brendon’s gone back to staring at me and it’s kind of hard to relax when a hot, naked guy won’t quit looking at you.  

“Brendon?”

“Yes?”

“What’s your plan? Are you staying up here in the mountains or…?”

I leave the question hanging, but he’s not answering. I sit back up again to look at him, stare him down until he opens his mouth.

“I thought I could come with you,” he finally admits shyly. He’s so cute when he’s unsure of himself and his voice is soothing when he’s talking this quietly. Some still functioning part in my brain shakes its head. Stop crushing on the lunatic.

“You want to come back with me to the camp?” He could’ve gone anywhere in the world and decides to go to Camp Nada?

“Yes.”

“Well, you see, thing is that I don’t know how to get back. Which means we have to wait until one of the instructors comes to find me and when they see you, they’re going to pester you with a bunch of questions.”

“More questions than you ask?” He says mockingly, but I’m being serious. I’m not a person of any importance or influence, but if the camp finds out about his alien story- Shit, I don’t even want to know what they’ll do to him. He’s too hot to wilt in a mental ward and I hate myself for being this shallow. Still, he is astoundingly attractive.

Thankfully, Brendon seems to catch on the graveness of the situation. “I will not tell them about me.”

“And how will you explain this?” I motion to the wreckage.

“They will not see it. We can go back to the camp and-“

“We’re lost!”

“I know how to get back.”

I look at him in utter disbelief. Then it dawns on me that Brendon didn’t accidentally crash here, but probably studied the whole area before his landing. Assuming he’s an alien, which I’m still not convinced he is.

“Well, what are you waiting for then? Lead the way.”

Brendon smirks and jumps up from the grass, oozing self-confidence as he climbs down the mountains. I watch him, ignore the interested twitch my cock makes at the sight of his bubble butt, and pray to Spencer I’ll survive this.


	4. Brendon Urie

“Where the fuck were you?” Spencer asks me at breakfast. He’s furious and judging from the bags underneath his eyes, he probably stayed up all night worrying and waiting for me to come back.

Brendon and I reached the camp around five am, which was only two hours ago. We would’ve made it back much quicker, but turns out Brendon isn’t as great of a navigator as he bragged about, so we ended up lost a couple of times. When we finally did found our way back to the camp, some early joggers were running the tracks and since Brendon’s still naked, I figured it’d be best to hide in the forest and wait until everyone was at breakfast.

“I had to come up with some dumb excuse to Tyler and Josh-“

“Who?”

Spencer shoots me a dirty, angry look. “The two other guys in our cabin? The ones that wouldn’t stop asking me about your absence. Shit Ryan, I thought you’d drowned in the lake or something.”

He’s guilt tripping me and it’s working. I feel genuinely bad. Had our roles been reversed, I would haven driven myself up the wall with worry. “I’m sorry. I was pissed about the canoe thing so I went for a walk and got lost in the woods. I fell asleep at some point and only just got back.”

“You look like you’ve not slept at all,” he notes sourly, and now that he knows I’m alive and well, he turns his back on me and sits at the table with his new BFF’s. Spencer’s like a girl in that way, if he’s mad at you, he won’t punch you in the guts and get it over with, no, he’ll ignore you for the rest of the day. Once when we were little, I accidentally broke one of Spencer’s action figures and he didn’t talk to me for a week, even after a million apologies and a horribly gone wrong failed apology-cake baking session.

Being more grown up and independent these days, I ignore him for now and quickly grab two apples and a water bottle before I head back out the dining hall. I’ll make it up to Spencer later. When I was stuck in the canoe with Patrick he kept getting way too close to me and I could smell the scent of coffee in his breath. Maybe, I’ll try to break into the instructors’ office and steal some coffee for Spencer. Were we in Vegas right now, I’d be on my way to get a Starbucks gift card to buy his forgiveness with.

I reach the clearing of the forest and try to look for Brendon. He’s not anywhere in sight, so I quietly call out his name. Hopefully, everyone at the camp is still at breakfast and out of earshot, but I won’t take any chances.

“You’re back!” He exclaims and startles me as he jumps on the walking path out of nowhere. Sometimes along our hike back, he started using contractions and it’s strange to hear him speak almost like a normal person.

I usher him back to the camp and lead him into the cabin.

 

Once we’re there, I rummage through my traveling bag and throw some shorts and a t-shirt at him.“Those should fit.”

Brendon catches the clothes, wiggles into the shorts and only now that he’s halfway dressed am I aware of how used I’ve gotten to seeing his naked form. Despite being taller than him, my clothes are still a bit too tight on Brendon and he struggles to get his arms through the sleeves as he tries to put on the shirt I gave him. He ends up tangling the whole damn thing and looks at me with big, helpless eyes.

“Here, let me help,” I offer and walk over to guide his arms through the sleeves. His skin is still unnaturally hot like he’s got a deathly fever. Maybe he’s sick enough to be delusional. It would explain his E.T. story.

“Thank you,” Brendon says and marches towards the door.

“Woah, hold on. Where do you think you’re going?” I ask and demonstratively block his way.

Brendon is confused. It’s easy to read his emotions now that I see him in broad daylight. His eyebrows furrow and his mouth is slightly agape.

“The camp. Where else?”

“You can’t go to the camp, you’re not registered. They won’t let you in.” I try to get him to understand, think rationally, but Brendon is being stubborn now. He’s biting on his lip angrily and his eyes have turned into slits; the perfect image of a sulking child.

“You said I could come to the camp with you!” He accuses me. I’m pretty sure he’s putting words into my mouth. I don’t remember agreeing to let him join. I just used him to find my way back here.

“You are at the camp. Just not with other people.”

“Why not?”

I sigh. Brendon’s willful like the toddler of my neighbors and there’s a reason why I never volunteer to babysit that kid.

“Because, _like I said_ , you have to get registered first. Which means you have to pay a fee and give them your name and address and all that other personal information you, _newsflash_ , don’t have. Unless of course you’ve got some alien ID with you that we can show them.” I add the last bit sarcastically and it’s Brendon’s turn to sigh.

“Ryan, I am not human. How much proof do you need to believe me? And besides,” he adds quickly when I open up my mouth to answer his apparently rhetoric question. “We can give me an identity, right? I’ve seen it being done in a lot of your movies.”

“Did you see the part where they get arrested too? Because that’s usually what happens when you do something _illegal._ ”

Brendon’s pouting, using his big, puffy lips to his advantage. Like that will work on me. His begging, brown, puppy eyes bore right into my soul and-

“Okay, fine,” I give in. “We’ll figure something out to get your stupid name on the list.”

Brendon beams at me. “Thank you, Ryan. I knew I could count on your help.”

Suddenly I’m wrapped in his embrace as he’s hugging me tightly, pressing our chests together and I can feel the hotness of his skin even through the fabric of the shirt.

“Yeah, whatever,” I mumble and press my palms firmly against his hips to push him off me. He’s got nice hip bones, but I don’t allow my hands to linger more than a second. His own touch is still burning through my skin.

Brendon looks alarmed like he just got caught robbing a bank. “Did I- Was I not supposed to do this? I thought humans hugged when they’re happy.”

“They do,” I quickly assure him. “It’s just not something _I_ personally do. But people hug all the time, you’re right about that.”

But Brendon’s not relieved like I expected him to be. “Why are you different?” He asks, and now that he’s looking straight at me, I can see the solicitude in his eyes.

I didn’t expect a follow-up question and stutter around quite a bit, before I admit to him that, well, I don’t like being touched.

“Why?” I wish he’d go back to asking rhetorical questions.

“Because. Hell, I don’t know. It just makes me uncomfortable.”

“I’m sorry if I made you feel that way,” Brendon apologizes and he looks truly repentant as he says it.

“No, it’s okay. Don’t feel bad. I, er, you didn’t do anything wrong.” He still won’t smile, but I’m running out of things to say. “Let’s just figure out a way to get you registered.”

He nods reluctantly and I get him to sit down on Spencer’s bed so we can strategize. In the end, our plan is pretty simple.

 

Now that his ass is covered in my shorts, I have no problem staring at it. It’s a big butt. Nice and round and perky.

“Move your overly large ass through the window before somebody sees us,” I hiss at him. There’s a mirror on the wall opposite the window and I can see Brendon’s reflection grinning back at me before he finishes climbing through. I’m quick to follow him. I’ve got a narrow frame and no abnormal sized ass to hinder me, so I’m standing beside him in the camp’s office mere seconds later.

Everyone’s out on a hike today. It’s a day trip and they won’t be back until dinnertime. When the others came back to change into hiking-friendly clothes, I curled up in my bed and faked sickness. Josh and Tyler asked me if I was at the nurse’s last night and, sure, of course, that’s where I was. Threw up all night, must’ve been something in the food I didn’t eat. They nodded, full of sympathy, not having any doubts about the food being foul, and wished me to get well soon. By ‘they’, I’m excluding Spencer; he only snorted and threatened me that he would send the nurse over to check up on me while they were gone. I didn’t even know we had a nurse.

I look around the room and see a coffee machine on the counter. Gotcha. I have to search around a bit before I find a cupboard with a pack of plastic cups.

“You want coffee?” I ask Brendon who’s busy exploring the room himself. It’s not a big room, it’s just a small cabin with a tiny kitchen area, a sofa, and a mini office. Brendon opens the fridge and inspects it with curiosity.

“Can I have milk in mine?” He asks me and holds up the milk container in his hand to show me.

“Sure,” I shrug. While we wait for the coffee to finish brewing, I startup the computer sitting at the office desk. Thankfully, it isn’t locked and I can pull up the file that has mine and all the other kids’ information on it. I open my own document to use as reference and start creating Brendon’s file.

“Did you come up with a last name yet?” I ask Brendon and can sense his presence behind me. I look over to see him standing a few steps away from the desk, peering over my shoulder as much as he can with the amount of distance between us. Ever since I told him about the non-touchy thing he’s been overcautious and giving me twice the amount of space than strictly necessary. When we’d walk back to the camp last night, he kept bumping into me and I could constantly feel the heat coming off of him. I’m not complaining about being able to swing my arms without hitting him, but I’ve kind of gotten used to having him inappropriately close to me.

“Urie.”

“Sorry, what?”

“That’s my name. Brendon Urie.”

“Is it actually or did you just come up with it?

“I came up with it,” he sounds proud of the fact. “Normally we go by common names, like John Brown, or Adam Jones, or Josh Parker.”

“You just had to be different, huh?” I’m mocking him, but he doesn’t seem bothered. “So how’d you come up with the name?”

His eyes begin to sparkle. “Well, Nicholas Brendon, he’s the actor in Buffy, it’s a TV show where they kill vam-“

“I know what Buffy is.”

“Oh okay.” He looks a bit disappointed that he won’t get to recap the whole show to me. “I took Urie from Kuki Urie. The guy in Tokyo Ghoul.”

“What?”

“It’s a manga. You should read it, it’s really good.”

“I don’t read comics,” I tell him flatly, while I fill in his made-up information.

“It’s not a comic. They’re two whole different…” I let him enjoy his rant, not really caring about the topic and only listening with one ear.

“Oh yeah?” I throw a question in every now and again, absentmindedly, as I ponder over Brendon’s age. The camp is designed for high school kids, though most of us are around sixteen. I swiftly look Brendon over again and he could probably pass as a seventeen-year-old, a very mature looking seventeen-year-old, but I honestly doubt anyone will question his age once the paperwork is complete.

“Done.” I hit save and turn around to grin at him. Mission accomplished. “You’re Brendon Urie, from Las Vegas, which is how we know each other. You’re my neighbor, by the way, because nobody’s currently living in the house next to mine. You’re seventeen and you’re here because both of your parents tragically died recently and you’ve got no relatives. My dad’s best friends with your parents, of course, being neighbors and all, so he’s taking care of all the legal stuff and since I’m here at this dumb camp, he thought it’d be best to register you too, although belatedly, which is why none of the instructors read your file. Oh, and I’ve got you a cabin all by yourself.”

Brendon seems impressed. “Am I still mourning my parents?”

“That’s up to you. Although,” and then the brilliance of the plan hits me, “if you happen to get crying fits every now and again and have to wallow in your cabin all day, I’d be more than happy to help you cope. Even if I have to miss another one of those fun hiking trips.”

“You’d give that up to be with me?” His voice drips with sarcasm and I like that. Like that he’s picking up on my humor and can go along with it. Other than Spencer, I don’t know many people that can.


	5. Baby, You're Sweatin'

Brendon finds a spare key in one of the desk drawers and knowing it will probably come in handy more than once, we willingly take it. Equipped with our coffee cups, and the extra one for Spencer, we ignore the window and exit through the front door this time, careful to lock it after we leave.

It’s around lunch time and it’s boiling hot outside. Even though it’s a short walk from the office to my cabin, by the time we get back, sweat has collected on my forehead and I’m yearning to take an ice cold shower. The camp, of course, has community showers. No luxury in the wilderness as expected. I haven’t actually showered since I’ve arrived here. Now, with everyone out hiking and no chance of anyone barging in while I stand butt naked under the shower-head, seems like the perfect time to wash and get the grease out of my hair.

Once Brendon and I are back in my cabin, I fish out a clean towel and soap from my bag. “I’m gonna go grab a quick shower,” I inform Brendon and notice how the shirt I gave him clings tightly to his chest. There are wet patches under both his armpits and perspiration literally drips off his hair. He’s a sweaty mess, worse than me. I think of his hot skin and _yeah_ , maybe the heat does affect him a little more.

I’m a pretty selfish person. I don’t volunteer or do charities, and if someone broke their rib and I broke my nose at the same time as them, I’d demand to the doctor to fix my nose first. I’m a horrible person most of the time, really. Spencer’s the kind of guy who goes out of his way to help others. Me? I mostly ignore other people’s problems. Unless it’s Spencer, but I think I’m only nice to him because I have to stay in his good books. One day, Spencer is going to wake up and realize what scum I am and then he’s going to leave me and I’ll have no one. I try my best to postpone that day for as long as possible.

Knowing that, I surprise even myself when my hands suddenly push the shampoo bottle and towel into Brendon’s arms. “You can shower first,” I hear myself say and even dig out another shirt for him to change into.

“Thanks,” Brendon says, unaware of how out of character my altruism is. “Where’s the shower room?”

Since I’m going to shower after him anyway, I figure I might as well come with him to the shower area.

 

It’s in a cabin, of course, because what building isn’t made out of wooden planks here?

“I’ll wait outside until you’re done.”

Brendon disappears inside and I pace back and forth to pass the time. Hopefully, he won’t take too long. I should find a tree to sit under, get in the shade before I’m just as sweaty as Brendon.

“Ryan,” Brendon calls me back before I can make my way towards the oak tree. It hasn’t even been five minutes since Brendon’s gone off to shower. I turn to look at him, take a double-take. He’s naked again, sweat glistening on his skin and even though I’ve seen him without clothes for much longer than with, I can’t stop staring at his body. He’s beautiful. “The shower won’t turn on.” 

He’s a mix of disgruntled and confused. I bite back a smile, but my lips curve upwards anyway. “Here, I’ll show you.”

Brendon looks even more pissed off when he notices the amusement on my face as I walk past him.

The tiles inside the cabin are moist and my shoes squeak with every step. Every other building has wooden floors and it’s kind of nice to have a familiar material under my feet for once. I dart towards the first shower-head on my left, Brendon right on my heels.

It’s one of those weird shower handles. The one’s you have to pull out and turn right, I don’t blame Brendon for not getting it to work. It’s old and rusty and it takes me several tries to pull it out and make it come unstuck.

With one forceful motion, the water shoots out of the head and I don’t react fast enough to step away. The water is pure ice. I yelp in shock and can hear Brendon laughing at me over the stream of water. Now that the shower’s fixed and I’m drenched, he’s back to being his bubbly self.

The shirt is clinging to the icy water and I try to turn the handle to ‘Hot’ but nothing happens.

“Fuck,” I curse and give up. Just now, am I smart enough to take a step back to avoid the stream. Though, blessed as I am with bad luck, the sole of my shoe slides on the wet tiles and I slip backwards. Thankfully, Brendon’s right behind me and his reflexes aren’t as bad as mine. He catches me when I fall right into his arms and I welcome his body heat.

“Thanks,” I mumble breathlessly and plan to get up and let him shower. But Brendon is really, really warm and I am really, really cold and even though he’s sweaty, he’s not at all gross. He actually smells really nice and I should seriously move away from him now, but his body is really firm and I know I’m using a lot of ‘really’s’, but I’m still under shock from being almost frozen to death.

“You’re cold,” Brendon states and oh yeah, isn’t he all sweaty and hot? And I’m freezing, so this works out perfectly. We can just skip the shower altogether and stay like this forever.

Brendon’s still holding me with a tight grip on my sides and it feels nice being held that way. Just when I begin to relax into him a little further, Brendon suddenly lets go.

“Sorry,” he rushes out the words. “I forgot you don’t like being touched.”

Don’t worry, buddy, I did too. “It’s okay. Thanks for catching me.”

I smile at him encouragingly but Brendon still acts woeful. I place my hand on his shoulder and he looks up at me with his big, woeful eyes. “Really, Brendon. I didn’t mind you touching me just now. I probably would’ve hit my head on one of these tiles if you hadn’t saved me.”

That seems to soothe him a bit. 

I let go of his shoulder and leave him to shower alone. It’s still fucking hot outside and by the time Brendon comes back, showered and dressed, my clothes have almost dried completely.

 

Once we've both showered, we end up hanging around Brendon’s cabin for the rest of the afternoon. I’m glad I packed some extra stuff with me, because my spare toothbrush and towel end up sitting on Brendon’s bed, along with more shirts and shorts for him to wear. Laundry day is apparently twice a week, so hopefully the clothes will be sufficient enough. I mean, the shirts will definitely last, since Brendon is refusing to wear one. “It’s too hot,” he complains and he probably would’ve waltzed around naked had I not threatened to leave him alone if he didn’t keep his shorts on. 

I watch as his abs vibrate. He’s laughing about something I said. I can’t even remember what it was. My thoughts are all over the place ever since the shower incident. Brendon’s launching into a story of one of his alien friends who came to earth as a dolphin. It’s a cute story. I like the way his lips move when he talks.

 

When it’s finally time for dinner and everyone else is back from their trip, I tell Brendon to go ahead and head to the cafeteria alone and our paths separate as I go back to my own cabin to talk to Spencer. 

Tyler, Josh, and Spencer are just about to leave when I catch up with them. 

“Feeling better, Ryan?” Josh asks and I smile, remember I’m supposed to be sick, and nod before I drag Spencer back inside.

He’s still pissed at me, but I shove the coffee cup into his hands. It’s lukewarm by now and probably tastes gross, but it’s coffee nonetheless and Spencer beams at me. 

“Where did you get this?” 

“The office. I’ve got a key to it too, so we can get some more later on.”

Spencer seems baffled. “You broke into the office and stole the key? Without me? The  _ one time  _ you’re actually adventurous you leave me to go on a boring-ass hike and have fun on your own?”

“I wasn’t alone,” I explain and start to tell Spencer about Brendon. I leave out the alien part, though, I don't want him thinking I'm crazy. Instead, I make up the bit where I met Brendon a few years ago when I went to Boston for the summer. “Brendon ran away from home and he’s got nowhere to go and I just feel really bad for him.”

“Okay,” Spencer says. He’s got no reason to doubt my story. I’ve never lied to him before.

 

I’m kind of worried that we won’t spot Brendon in the dining hall. I made him wear my bright red shirt, just in case he gets sucked in with the crowd. Turns out I worried for nothing, or at least for the wrong reasons. Brendon’s right by the door, talking nervously to Patrick. Brendon notices our presence immediately and I swear the next breath he’s exhaling is full of relief. I hastily join them, dragging Spencer with me. 

“Ryan,” Patrick addresses me ever so friendly. “It’s good to see you back in full health. Brendon here says he’s a friend of yours.”

I nod in confirmation and tell Patrick about the made up car crash and all the other crap.

Spencer says: “It’s good to see you again, Bren.” And Brendon smiles at him so widely, that I have to step on his foot for him to stop. We just talked about his dead parents for fuck’s sake. He can’t smile like that if he wants Patrick to buy our story.

“Well,” Patrick scratches his head. “We’re certainly happy to have you here, Brendon, but I need to go and arrange a meeting with the other instructors to inform them about your case.”

We awkwardly say goodbye to Patrick and he wishes us a good night.

Brendon keeps looking around shyly as we get our food. He seems intimidated by the number of people and it’s good that Spencer’s with us, because he’s charismatic and distracts Brendon with a bunch of questions. Brendon shoots me a confused look when Spencer asks him about the runaway, but I just nod and Brendon dives into this compelling story, talking about how he had to hide in trains and sleep in the wilderness and all that fun stuff. He’s a good storyteller, I’ve noticed that earlier when we hung out in his cabin. His voice is full of emotion and he uses his hand to help deliver what he’s saying. It also helps that the story’s completely fictional and Brendon’s got a vast imagination. 

We find a table that’s almost empty, and if Spencer’s sorry he’s not sitting with the cool kids today, he doesn’t show it. Brendon sits down beside me and Spencer sits across from us. Like we did on the first day, he slides over his pudding and I give him my salad. Brendon watches us with curiosity and I notice he got the same food as I’ve got. I feel sort of bad that he’s stuck with the salad now. Oh well. Maybe he’s weird like Spencer and actually likes it. I observe his face as it turns into disgust when he takes the first bite.

“Spence, you want a third salad?” I grin knowingly at Brendon and take the salad bowl away from him.

“You know how many essential nutrients are in this?” Spencer asks us, pointing with his fork at a purple leaf, trying to make us feel guilty about our dislike in healthy food.

“Pudding has calcium,” I tell him and shove a gigantic spoon of vanilla pudding in my mouth. Brendon copies me and hums in approval at the taste.

“At least eat your actual meal first, for Christ’s sake,” Spencer pleads. He does that sometimes. He won’t say I’m too skinny outright, but he’ll imply it.

I sigh and dip the floppy French fries into the puddle of ketchup on my plate.

“Happy?” I ask Spencer, but before he can give me an answer I catch sight of Patrick approaching our table.

“Brendon, Ryan, can I borrow you two kids for a minute?”

I try to figure out if we’re in trouble or not, though Patrick is  _ always  _ cheerful, so it’s hard to tell if he’s mad.

He leads us out of earshot from everyone else and we end up standing in a random corner of the dining hall. Patrick pulls a key out of his pocket and for a second I think it’s the one we stole from the office, before I remember that key is still hidden in my cabin. He holds the key towards me and I recognize it as one of the cabin keys.

“I talked to the other instructors and they’re all happy to have you here, Brendon. However, we decided it would be best if you didn’t stay in a cabin all by yourself, mainly for safety reasons. Ryan, I know you’ve already settled in, but would you mind-“

“I can move in with Brendon,” I interrupt him before I have to listen to that man talk any further.

Patrick seems a bit annoyed that I wouldn’t let him finish, but his smile brightens by my agreeing. “That’s wonderful! Thank you, Ryan. We really appreciate your cooperation in this.”

“No problem,” I say and Brendon and I exchange grins. Suddenly, spending two weeks at this camp doesn’t sound so bad after all.


	6. Back to the Mountains

“Spencer doesn’t like me.”  
I tear my gaze off the wooden ceiling to look at Brendon, who’s already staring at me from the opposite bunk bed. “He’s just mad because I’m sleeping with you. Well, not with you,” I feel my cheeks heating up and presumably turning scarlet red.  
“You’re blushing,” Brendon doesn’t fail to point out. Half of his face grins at me while the other half remains buried in his pillow. I weigh my option of throwing my own pillow at him for his stupid comment, but then I’d have no pillow to lay on and I’d probably miss hitting him anyway. But there’s no sacrifice or movement required in glaring at him, so that’s what I do to express my discontentment instead.  
“Whatever. You know what I mean. And once Spencer gets to know you, he’ll like you.”  
“You’re right,” Brendon agrees. I raise an eyebrow, surprised he didn’t argue with me. Then again Brendon is charming and attractive. If I looked half as good as him and had his self-esteem, I’m sure I wouldn’t doubt people liking me either.  
A knock on the door disrupts us. “Lights out boys!”  
I roll off the bed with effort and an annoyed groan, damning Patrick to hell as I flip the light switch off. The moon still shines high in the sky and its light casts through the window, bright enough that I find my way back to the bed easily without bumping into any furniture or collecting bruises on my shins.  
The bed in this cabin is just as uncomfortable as the first, but I’ve reached the point of fatigue where the lousy mattress won’t stop me from falling asleep.  
Brendon’s voice, however, does stop me. “Ryan?”  
“What?” I grunt.  
“I can’t fall asleep.”  
“Close your eyes and count sheep.” He was up with me all last night; it shouldn’t be that hard for him to enter dreamland.  
“One, two, three, four-”  
“In your head!”  
“Sorry,” he apologizes, smirking at me, the moon reflecting in his eyes and making them twinkle. A yawn tickles my throat and I hear Brendon snickering at me.  
“What?” I mumble, trying to cover up another yawn by keeping my eyes firmly shut.  
“Nothing, you’re just… never mind.”

 

_He’s grinning at me from the showers. Water pellets running down his body and strains of wet hair falling into his face, across his eyes._   
_“You cold?” He asks, voice raspy and alluring. Brendon reaches out his hand and I find myself being pulled into his grip, into his arms, pressed against his naked chest._   
_Only now, as his body heat seeps through my own, do I realize I am shaking. I look down and there’s frost on my skin, icicles have formed on my fingernails._   
_I nod, finally answering Brendon’s question. “Freezing,” I whisper, teeth chattering._   
_There are bells ringing in the background. Brendon’s indent finger trails my jaw. Someone is screaming. I tilt my head, as Brendon does the same. Warmth spreads through me, a source of heat suddenly on my back. Brendon’s lips are inches away from mine._   
_Then something attacks me._

I blink and both ways see darkness. Warm fuzziness tickles my nose and I rub my cheek against it. It’s comfortable and practically smells of the perfect dream.  
“RYAN! RYAN! Wake up!”  
The warm fuzzy locks of hair are torn away from my face and Brendon’s brown eyes stare at me in horror.  
“What’s your problem?” I manage to mumble, my voice hoarse from sleep and my mind slightly disoriented.  
“WHAT IS THIS NOISE?”  
He’s yelling at me and if he’s really an alien, he should have come to earth as an alarm clock. I rub my eyes, while my brain does its best to differentiate between the half-naked Brendon currently laying on top of me and the naked Brendon showering in my dreams. Surprisingly, it’s not so easy.  
“Jesus fuck, stop screaming already. That’s just the morning horn.” I explain groggily, though part of me really does appreciate his high-pitched screams while he’s on my bed. “Get off me,” I try to push him off the mattress and Brendon looks at me like I just slapped him across the face.  
“Sorry, I woke you.”  
“You should be.” Although sleepy, I’m 100% aware of what an asshole I’m being, but that’s still better than having Brendon bouncing up and down on me when I’m already hard because of that stupid dream.  
The horn eventually ceases to be blown (and there’s a word I shouldn’t linger on) and Brendon seems more than relieved by it. I restrain from commenting on that stupid signal that he had running for hours in the mountains when we first met. I’m too tired to pick a fight and roll over to face the window, trying my best to ignore Brendon, and my cock.  
Of course it only takes me a moment of closing my eyes before there’s a knock on our door.  
“Boys? Are you up?” Patrick’s voice, as always, is too bubbly for me, especially this early in the day.  
I groan a response.  
“Oki doki! See you two at breakfast.”  
“I hate him!” I declare as soon as the sound of Patrick’s footsteps becomes distant.  
“I think he’s nice,” Brendon states, defiance in his voice. For a second I stare at him in complete bewilderment, until I realize he’s teasing me. No way Brendon would like a guy like him. He’s probably still mad that I pushed him off my bed earlier and wants to annoy me with Patrick’s faux greatness.  
“Go get dressed,” I tell him in my most authorizing tone.  
Brendon sticks his tongue out at me and I hope it wasn’t me who taught him this childish behavior.

“Guess what we’re doing today?” Spencer greets me and the shit-grinning face accompanying his words worries me. Maybe I should come up with another excuse to miss activities, catch up on some sleep. I’m dreading what’s on today’s schedule of ultimate fun if Spencer’s clown mask is anything to go by.  
I nudge Brendon in the ribs, “You think you can pull off a crying fit?”  
“Why?”  
There’s a look of confusion on his face and just when I’m about to answer, Spencer cuts in: “Because we’re going rock climbing today in the mountains, and Ryan here is already a pro at that, considering he sacrificed his beloved sleep to explore the mountain range the other night.”  
Fuck me. Of course we’re going to the “fun” place I almost died in. Also, the work rock climbing itself is physically exhausting to say so never mind me actually doing it. And let’s not forget the bonus points for Spencer still being mad at me. I need to break into the office and steal more coffee before he’ll hold this dumb mountain thing against me for the rest of our lives.  
But before I can pull Brendon to the side so we can create a genius lie that will get us out of going, the boy standing beside me parts his big, beautiful lips and ruins the plan before it even gets the chance to hatch.  
“I like the mountains!” Brendon exclaims excited, like the happy little puppy I secretly compare him to more often than I probably should. Except now, my mind doesn’t dwell on his adorable, caring eyes and what they might look like in various position and angles, because Jesus fucking shit.  
Brendon’s spacecraft wreckage (or whatever it is), is still there. Those weird telescope glass sheds and that siren thing are still there. It’s going to look like some sort of extreme littering on a nature reserve and Patrick -the good, law-obedient citizen that he is- will call the cops, and the cops will investigate and then realize Brendon’s DNA is all over the place and then Brendon will get arrested and I’ll be considered an accomplice and get arrested with him.  
“No,” I determine firmly. “We do not like the mountains, Brendon.”  
Spencer’s face turns grim and Brendon must be copying his expression, because now they’re both looking at me with hostility in their eyes.

The end is neigh. Haven’t I said it before? Who in the world ever decided physical, nonsexual exercise was fun?  
I look over to Brendon who’s got a trail of girls following after him, asking him all _kinds_ of questions that I’m not sure I want to hear. Whatever. I don’t even care anymore. Let them find the wreckage. Let my life absorb the wreckage, because at this point it doesn’t even matter how deep I got myself buried into this shithole.  
Fuck Brendon for wanting to go hiking. Fuck Spencer for introducing him to all of his new camping friends. Fuck everyone for throwing themselves at Brendon. And fuck Patrick for realizing I’m sulking alone and now walking towards me.  
“Hey Buddy,” he greets me, while I pretend to be massively interested in the trees consuming us in this boring, fuckass forest.  
I nod an unenthusiastic response and keep staring at fallen leaves drowning in mud. It’s okay to be a rude asshole to him, I assure my conscious, I’m an asshole anyway. Why should I not be who I am? It’s not like I need to justify myself to Patrick, of all people.  
“So, Brendon’s fitting in well.”  
“Yeah.”  
“That’s great!” Peachy.  
I bite my tongue and swallow the sarcastic response that was just waiting to slip out of my mouth. “Where exactly are we going?” I say instead, because regardless of Brendon betraying me to all these nature freaks, I’m still worried about what might happen if they find the wreckage.  
“Oh there’s a trail leading to some small mountains over there, and…” Patrick keeps talking about how great those mountains are for beginners when it comes to rock climbing, while I breathe out in relief. Brendon’s mountains were the high ones to our left. Patrick pointed to the mountain peaks barely hovering over the trees to our right.  
“That sounds fantastic,” I smile genuinely at my instructor whose entire face lights up at my sudden change in mood. “It’s just too bad that I hurt my wrist while we went canoeing the other day, and I’m afraid I won’t be able to go climbing if I want to prevent further injuries.”  
I keep smiling while his happiness depreciates slightly. Oh well. I don’t need Brendon’s help to get out of doing stupid outdoor activities.

“Hey,” I look up from where I’m sitting and watch Jon as he squads down next to me. His good hand gets placed on the ground for stability, as his butt slowly sinks until the kid in the cast has successfully managed to sit down in the grass beside me.  
“Why are you even here with that thing?” I find myself finally desperate enough for a conversation and ask the question that’s been bothering me for a while now. “I mean it's not like you can do any of the activities with your broken arm.”  
Jon smiles at me. “True. But I didn’t come here just to go rock climbing and canoeing, you know?”  
I’m confused. “What else is there to do around here?” If there is anything to do here, I would really like to know because staring at Brendon's ass as he climbs up the mountain has been my sole entertainment for the past ten minutes.  
“Well,” Jon begins and I’m literally fixated on his lips, that’s how needy I am for his answer. “I'm mostly here for the people. I think it’s cool to meet guys our age from all over the country. Plus, I’m from Chicago so the lack of pollution in the air is definitely something my lungs appreciate.”  
The hope I held for barely two seconds explodes inside me and I am left in shreds all over the ground.  
“Ry, you okay?” Jon asks concerned and I choose to ignore the fact that he’s just used my nickname when we barely know each other. Instead, I focus on how he’s padding me on the shoulder with his broken arm. The cast gets slammed against my spine and I'm in enough emotional and physical pain to allow myself to wince. “What’s wrong, buddy?”  
I bury my face in my hands and try not to scream. “Everything” I think and hear my voice mutter the same word aloud.  
“Are you homesick?” Jon sounds like the guidance counselor at my school and it’s strangely soothing.  
I consider his question. Am I homesick? I miss my bed.

Turns out that Jon is a pretty decent guy. On the way back to camp, I find myself walking by his side and somehow we end up talking about music. Kid’s got good taste. Plus, he seems genuinely interested in having a conversation with me, which automatically puts him in the top five coolest people in this camp. I send a dirty thought towards Brendon’s direction who’s busy chatting away with the tall boy I recognize as Spencer’s canoe buddy, Dallon, or whatever his name is. Spencer, meanwhile, is flirting with some girl. I’m really glad Jon is here so I don’t look as pathetic and antisocial as I normally would.

“Not hungry?” Jon asks me with a knowing smirk. I feel the heat in my cheeks rising as I look between Jon’s full plate and my single serving of pudding.  
“Food here isn’t that great,” I mutter and refrain from listing all the other things that aren’t so great at the moment. Whenever I look at Jon I get this weird feeling of trust, like I should open up to him, tell him exactly how I feel. Tell him how I’m only here, because I couldn’t bear wasting my summer without Spencer by my side. And now, look at Spence, sitting five tables away from me, like he couldn’t care less whether I was here or in Vegas. It makes me feel sick. I push the pudding away.  
“Camp food’s always shit,” Jon agrees and his smile somehow shows that he understands. There’s a fucking hurricane inside my head blowing around right now and Jon is able to sense it. It should be unsettling, considering the fact I just the met the guy today, but it’s a natural comfort. One I shouldn’t get used to. “Which is why I packed a small candy store in my luggage, aka my personal survival pack. You should come over to my cabin tonight and get a proper 100% sugar meal.”  
Just the thought of eating anything that wasn’t made here makes my stomach churn loudly. The sound makes Jon laugh and the deep red blush on face can’t even pass as a sunburn now. Thankfully, Jon’s focus is back on his meal so he doesn’t notice the fact that he’s suddenly sitting across from a human-sized tomato. Calm down, Ryan, I tell myself and swallow down the nausea that has formed in my throat. I grab the pudding again, hoping eating will distract me.  
I lick the spoon, too aware of how my tongue darts out and swipes over the plastic. It’s such a sexual movement when you think about it. My eyes betray me as they wander over to the table Brendon is sitting at. He’s not looking at me, his head is down as he’s cutting pieces of food on his plate. I can’t believe he’s missing my spoon licking show.  
But I make sure not to miss his. It’s creepy to watch him from where I am. At a distance. Like a stalker. His mouth wraps around the fork and I’m questioning myself over how difficult of a task it is for me to look away.  
“So,” Jon says around a mouthful of food and my mind snaps back into platonic mode. I send an unspoken “thank you” thought to him. “Ready to visit Willy Wonka’s cabin in the woods?”  
A sudden longing overwhelms all other rational parts in my brain to invite Brendon to join us. I haven’t talked to him since this morning; I kind of miss his bubbly presence.  
I risk a quick glance back at Brendon and the yearning to be around him dies even quicker. He’s laughing, tall boy’s all over him, Spencer’s grinning at both of them. Unconsciously, my teeth scrap against the spoon and I bite down hard, breaking the plastic in two. It cuts my tongue and the taste of blood fills my mouth.  
“I’m ready.”


	7. Late Night Walks

You can tell Jon’s a musician because his timing is near to damn perfect.

I find myself in a fortress of candy wrappers - only now does it finally dawn on me just how starved I’ve been for the past few days. Jon’s a lifesaver. My new best friend. I pass the blunt back to him and laugh.

That’s the beauty of being in the middle of nowhere, I’ve come to realize. You can do whatever the fuck you want. No cops, no expectations, nothing’s here and nothing matters. Camp Nada.

At some point Jon’s roommates come in and join us. Maybe it’s the weed talking, but the guys turn out to only be half as bad as I’d initially thought.

“Lights out in fifteen minutes!” Patrick’s chirpy voice echoes through the camp and I can’t believe it’s already this late.

“I’d better head back,” I say reluctantly and get up, tumbling slightly from having sat for so long in the same position. 

A round of goodnights gently pushes me out of the door and I make a silent prayer I won’t run into Patrick. But bad luck isn’t the only foe on my shoulder and it takes only a minute of walking before a hand gets slapped on my right shoulder and I am face-to-face with my counsellor.

He must smell the weed on me. Shit. I am in so much shit. Why does this always have to happen to me?

“Ryan, did you not hear the announcement? It’s lights out, you should be asleep by now, not wandering alone in the dark.” Patrick says, while I assign my full attention to the broken branch next to my feet. What a poor branch, ripped from its tree. I can only imagine how sad it must feel.

Patrick’s staring at me. Oh right, he was talking to me.

“Ah yes, ‘tis late already, huh? So sorry about that.” I’m fumbling for words and it really is dark out. The moon’s not illuminating Patrick’s figure and I can barely see his face, let alone his expression and whether or not he’s buying my bullshit. “Well, anyway. I’d better get going… to my cabin… so I can sleep… like you told me to. So, yeah. ‘Night Trick.”

I’ve turned myself ninety degrees before his hand grabs my shoulder again and spins me back around.

“Are you okay Ryan? You’ve been acting odd these past few days.” Patrick asks me genuinely and I feel funny when I realize he’s actually  _ legit  _ concerned about me. Wow. I don’t really know how to return the favour, but choosing to not point out to him how I’ve only been here for a few days seems like a good start. Then again, maybe that’s Patrick’s polite way of telling me I’m a permanently odd person.

“Guess, I’m just a permanently odd person.” Oops. Too late to take the words back now. 

“There’s nothing wrong about that,” Patrick amends. “It’s just… when I said ‘odd’ I was actually looking for a nicer word for ‘sad and isolated’. Didn’t really work though, did it?” He’s smiling sheepishly at me, but I’m glad he’s at least being honest with me and not beating around the bush about my antisocial behaviour.

“Cantankerous.” 

“Sorry?”

“Cantankerous,” I repeat. “That’s the word you’re looking for.”

“Ryan,” Patrick starts again and, between the two of us,  _ he’s  _ the one who’s looking kind of sad now. Like a puppy waggling his tail, waiting to go outside, but there’s a hurricane outside and he doesn’t understand why you won’t grab the leash and open the door.

“I’m sorry,” I blurt out suddenly, if only to stop Patrick from saying whatever it was he was about to tell me. Though, of course, that attempt proves to be fruitless and seems to only encourage him to ensure me that I will be okay, that everything will work out eventually. Yeah, right.

“What exactly are you sorry for?”

“Uhm, acting like a dick? And not doing any of the activities.”

“That’s not your fault. Your wrist was hurting, wasn’t it?” He’s being sarcastic, but he’s still Patrick, so it doesn’t come across as hostile. I can’t help but smile, even if I’m a bit embarrassed that he’s calling me out on my lie so blatantly.

“I’m not much of a climber,” I admit.

“Sure like to watch other people climb though,” I hear him mutter, and something must’ve gotten into my throat, because I’m suddenly hit with a coughing fit and Patrick’s doesn’t seem eager to slap my back and help me not die.

“Sorry what?” I choke out the words, maybe I misheard his. I feel the heat in my cheek rising either way, and hope it’s too dark out for Patrick to see me blush. The last thing I need is for my face to turn into reindeer Rudolph’s fucking nose and light up.

“Nothing.”

Oh fucking great. He definitely noticed me watching Brendon today. Makes me wonder who else saw my longing “I’ve got a crush on a guy way out of my league” look.

“So what’s going on with you?” Patrick changes the topic quickly. I don’t know if the epic rise in awkwardness between us is making the conversation better or worse.

I also don’t get why he’s asking me to pour my heart out to him; we both know I won’t tell him the truth. Then again, he did let me miss every activity and, from the looks of it, he’s letting me get away with smoking too. Maybe I owe him the truth. Or maybe this means I can trust him. But just because I can trust him, doesn’t mean I should throw every issue on my mind at him. Patrick’s too pure to use, even I’m not shitty enough to take advantage of him like that.

“Nothing,” I finally say, my voice hollow and not revealing anything.

“Ryan, look at me. There’s always something that’s wrong. No person is ever perfectly happy with their life and that’s okay. We all go through some struggles and we can put on a mask and hide them, let the manifest underneath our face, or we can borrow someone else’s sponge and soap and try to wash them off.”

Very poetic, I’m about to snarl, hoping that if I’m just rude enough, Patrick will give up and let me go. But there’s something stopping me, maybe the rational, sensitive part of my brain, I don’t know, I don’t use that part often enough to recognize it. Either way, I’m stopped and forced to think. What harm would it really do me to just talk? Patrick offered to help, right? 

*****

“Scout’s honor?” Patrick asks, and for a second I’m afraid I have to take back all the good thoughts I’ve just constructed in my head. But then I see his smile and I know he’s mocking this camp to make me smile too.

“Scout’s honor.” I grin.

 

“Where were you?” Brendon’s accusing voice asks before I even get the chance to step through the door. “And could you please shut the door? I’m freezing.”

“Since when do you get cold?”

“Since you opened the door and let all the cold air in,” Brendon snaps. I don’t know why he’s mad, but it’s amazing how much Spencer’s diva attitude has already rubbed off on him.

Brendon’s on his bed, wrapped up in a blanket. It’s unsettling to see him curled up like this. He looks too small, too fragile; the blanket is almost twice his size.

I may be stoned, but not sentimental. I tear my gaze off the brown, puppy eyes and convince myself they don’t look frightened. I close the door and head straight to my own bed. My head feels all fuzzy and Patrick’s words still ring in my ears, giving me a headache. I just want to sleep and stop thinking for a little while.

“I asked you a question.”

There’s a loud sigh coming from my end of the room. Forget sleep, Brendon demands attention. “What?”

“Where were you?” He doesn’t sound frightened. Maybe it was anger in his eyes that I saw. He has no right to be mad at me, not when I can’t stay mad at him. Fuck, my head really is spinning.

“What do you care?” I bark, struggling to get the words out as Jon’s candy threatens its reappearance in my mouth.

I barely register the quick pause in our conversation, or Brendon’s hesitant tone as he answers. “I don’t.”

“Then don’t ask.”

I make the mistake of looking at him again and see the hurt in his eyes verified. Great. As if I wasn’t feeling guilty enough already.

I get up and walk back over to the door where the light switch is. I flip it off. The moon’s still full enough to not lull the cabin into complete darkness, but it suffices in helping me relax. Breathe, Ryan, just breathe. 

The nausea vanishes eventually and my thoughts clear up enough to erase at least the first asshole layer of my brain.

“Look, I’m sorry. I was at Jon’s and it’s been a long night. Can we _ please _ talk about this tomorrow?” I pull the blanket over my entire face.

“I was worried,” Brendon says quietly and my heart beats almost louder than his voice. Worried about me? Why would he do such a stupid thing? Brendon really needed to stop hanging out with Spencer and spend some quality time with me instead. We’ve barely spent a day apart and already he seems to have forgotten that I am not someone to worry about, even I stopped worrying about myself years ago. It was better this way, easier.

I mean, just look at Brendon. He must be exhausted from climbing all day, but because I decided to stay out, he decides to stay up and wait for my return. And here I am, keeping him from sleep and have him buried in blankets, when it’s boiling hot in the cabin. My miserableness is making Brendon miserable, which in turn, makes me even feel more miserable, and that’s a cycle Spence and I are webbed into, but not yet Brendon, and I’ll be damned if I let him in.

I bite my tongue, not just figuratively. I really do bite it and the cut I managed to get earlier at dinner reopens. It hurts way more than it should and makes my head go all crazy again. “Don’t bother worrying about me.” I tell Brendon, hoping the dark thoughts will help turn the night sky black and throw me in the pit of blackness I belong in.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this took forever to upload

Another day, another pleasant wake-up call from the fucking horn. At least Brendon’s not humping me this time.

I cringe as the sudden stream of sunlight hits my eyes. Brendon’s still asleep in his bed, I can barely see him under the avalanche of blankets. Throwing my pillow at his head seems like the right thing to do right then.

“Wake up, sleepyhead.” I say, my voice rough from having talked so much yesterday. That’s how you know you’re a quiet person, when you’re vocal chords hurt from simply speaking.

Memories from last night slowly crawl back into my consciousness and, as much as I would love to, they’re not easily repressed. I can hear my own, rational voice yelling at me for acting like such a piece of shit every chance I get.

“Look, I’m sorry about last night,” I pause, waiting for Brendon to say something so I can at least assess the damage I’ve done to our friendship and apologize to him properly.

But Brendon remains motionless; he didn’t even react when my pillow hit him in the face. Oh shit, something’s wrong with him. In a nanosecond, I’m over by his bedside, grabbing the blankets and pulling them off him.

“No, don’t!” Brendon starts screeching, holding on tightly to each blanket, and my heart feels ten pounds lighter.

“Shit, I thought you were dead or something.”

“Hypothermia can be deadly,” he retorts, teeth chattering.

“What’s wrong with you?” I ask, the worry creeping right back to me, like it had never left. He’s never been cold, always hot and sweaty, until last night that is. He could be a druggie. Maybe he took some super long-lasting hallucinogens that made him think he’s ET and now he’s going through withdrawal. It’s the most far-fetched idea ever, but it’s also the most reasonable one I can come up with at seven in the morning. “Are you still an alien?”

“Are you still human?” Brendon’s wittiness sounds like a sick bark.

“Stop being so snappy,” I tell him and pull all the blankets off him in one quick movement.

He attempts to take it back, but I’ve already thrown the blankets over to my bed and have Brendon pinned down, pressing my palms into each side of his ribcage, so he won’t just jump up and continue playing groundhog on my mattress.

“What the fuck? Stop trying to kill me!” Brendon yells, his eyes are wide in shock and he actually looks terrified at the loss of the thin blankets.

There are goosebumps on his arms and if I weren’t so concerned, it would be funny to see him struggling to stick his forearms into the sleeves of his t-shirt to cover up the patches of bare skin. It seems his arms are too muscular to fit through the sleeves though, and after a while, Brendon just gives up.

Shit, he really is sick. I don’t know how to deal with ill people. His shivering and curling into himself and I can’t stand to look at him when he’s so vulnerable. How did this even happen, he was fine less than twelve hours ago. Can a person even get so sick this drastically fast?

Seconds pass in which I panic as much as Brendon is shaking. He finally moves and makes another attempt to dash for the blankets, but my hands on his chest successfully manage to keep him down. Either I’ve gained an impressive amount of upper-body strength since yesterday or Brendon doesn’t have the energy to fight me properly. I almost wish he would throw me off his bed, prove he’s okay.

But he doesn’t and I remain straddling Brendon while he’s wiggling around, trying to push me off.

“Wait,” I tell him, hoping the words will keep him still enough to stay on his bed while I dig around for a sweater in my suitcase. I find a purple hoodie in the bottom that should fit him.

When I turn back, Brendon has successfully managed to bury his hands in his shirt. I walk back and sit on the edge of the mattress. His lips are purple and his face looks slightly yellow. I hold the sweater out for him, but Brendon won’t take it, hands still tucked away and shivering.

“Who’s got who worried now,” I mutter quietly under my breath as I roll up the hoodie and pull it over Brendon’s head, forcing him to wear the extra layer of clothing. I get up again to retrieve both, mine and his  blankets, and bundle Brendon in them. 

His skin is ice cold and a shiver runs through me just by touching his hands. Fuck, I have no idea what’s going on with him. All I know is that I’m being completely useless in terms of helping.

“Try to sleep, okay? I’ll go get the nurse and she’ll fix you right up.” I say - because it’s the only thing I can say that makes sense -  and walk over to my suitcase to get dressed.

“Don’t leave me.”

I drop the red shirt I just picked up and make my way back to him. Brendon looks like he’s about to cry. I can’t deal with this. I sit down beside him and try to find something to say that will calm him down, explain to him why I can’t just  _ sit _ here and watch his face go through one painful expression to the next.

But before I can respond, there’s a knock on the door. Patrick’s voice telling us it’s breakfast time. The idea of eating anything while looking at Brendon’s ghostlike face makes me nauseous. 

“Ryan, Brendon, are you two up yet?” Patrick asks. He sounds tired; my stupid confessions probably kept him up all night with worry. Deep down, l feel bad, but it’s hard to focus on anything but Brendon when his shivers make the entire bed shake. Patrick, it suddenly dawns on me, will know what to do. He’ll fix Brendon.

“Patrick,” I yell, and even my own voice sounds shaky now, “Brendon, he’s-“

Somewhere, underneath all these layers of sheets, are Brendon’s legs, and despite that, plus the fact that it’s 90 degrees outside and he’s frozen like a Snowman, the boy manages to kick me off the bed.

“Don’t tell him.” Brendon whispers warningly through chattering teeth.

“You’re sick! He can help,” I hiss back.

“Boys?”

“Please.” Brendon looks at me, eyes desperate and pleading.

_ Don’t listen to him _ , the smart part of my brain tells the others. _ He needs help, don’t fuck this up, don’t you dare listen to him. Get Patrick to come in and fix him.  _

_ But we can do this _ , the stupid part in me argues,  _ this is our chance to be alone with him, to save him and get all the glory. _

_ Don’t be a selfish bastard, you were just about to get the nurse. This is Brendon. We care about Brendon. _

_ Exactly, we should respect his wishes. Look at him, he doesn’t want Patrick’s help, he wants ours. He wants us. _

“We’re up.” I yell, and the stupid parts in my head cheer. I don’t break eye contact with Brendon until I hear Patrick’s footsteps disappear into the distance.

 

He won’t stop shaking, says he’s tired, sleeps for five minutes, then wakes up and starts shivering again. More often than not, I fantasize sneaking out and calling the nurse after all. But I promised him I wouldn’t leave him alone.

Spencer comes by when we don’t show up for breakfast. Brendon’s thankfully asleep when Spencer knocks and I let him in.

“What the fuck am I supposed to do?” I ask. It’s difficult to keep my voice quiet when all I want to do is scream. Even Spencer looks worried.

“Get the nurse,” Spencer says, because unlike me, he’s rational and doesn’t listen to the selfish, little prick of a voice in his head.

“I can’t, Spence. You should’ve seen him, he looked so fucking scared. Wouldn’t even let Patrick come in.”

“Well, sitting around here moping ain’t gonna make him feel better.”

“I – I’ll be fine.” We both turn our heads to Brendon’s bed. “Seriously, I feel better already,” he mumbles, and the eye he barely manages to keep open looks at me. Every emotion I’ve pent up inside for the past couple hours cracks and is unleashed.

“Bullshit,” I screech, not caring how high and loud my voice is, not caring if anybody outside the cabin hears. Let them listen, I don’t give a shit anymore. “You look like you’re about to fucking die and I won’t let that happen.”

“Ryan,” Brendon’s tone is stupidly calm compared to mine. “Please. Just come here.”

I cross the short distance to his bed with angry steps, not sure what to expect. His hand emerges out of the pile of blankets, and I grab it instinctively, our finger entwining.

“See,” Brendon says, his lips moving upwards just enough to make him smile. “I’m warmer already.”

He’s right. My own hand feels warmer against his touch. I hug him without meaning to. My anger and worry all vanish the moment I feel his body alive and strong underneath me. 

Only in the back of my mind, do I register Spencer’s voice excusing himself and closing the door behind him. Now that Brendon doesn’t seem to be in the state of dying anymore, there’s no need for Spencer being here. At least that’s Spencer’s logic. I kind of wish Spencer hadn’t left. I’m still feeling shaky, and Spencer has this calming presence on him.

“Promise me you’ll get better,” I whisper against Brendon’s hair. Already, his skin  is starting to feel warmer than mine and I hope it stays that way. 

For some reason, I’m still hugging him and since he’s laying on the bed, I’m practically just draped over him. The position is awkward, out of place, but I can feel his heartbeat against my chest and the sensation is too intense for me to pull away. My quick breaths slowly adjust to his steady, slow ones until we live in union. The feeling is enough to have me glued to Brendon and fulfill the need of never wanting to let go.

“Hey,” I say, and pull up enough to look at his face. “Promise me you’ll recover and won’t relapse in a few hours.”

He won’t meet my eyes and -forget his calming breaths-  my heart is back to fucking racing again.

“I can’t promise you this, Ryan. It’s a natural indicator.” He’s staring emotionless at the wall, voice quietly controlled. The perfect composure.

There’s a scream growing in my throat again. “What the fuck does that mean?” I growl. How can he be so calm when he’s practically telling me his suffering isn’t over? A minute ago I thought he was dying, a second ago he was fine, and now he’s back to dying again?

“This isn’t my natural body, Ry. I made it, it decays with time. The cold waves are the first sign I’ve worn it out.”

So his vessel, or whatever it is, is dying. He’s leaving. Going back to outer space where his body isn’t a beautiful piece of trash.

“But you’ve only been here for a few days. You’ve told me stories of people who stayed here for years,” I argue and kill the ugly realization that is dawning on me. I refuse to accept anything that doesn’t sound pleasant and assuring. There was never a time stamp on my mind, other than my own. Brendon couldn’t just  _ leave me _ . I still had to know so much about him, his favorite ice cream flavor for example, and his favorite color, how he shakes his body when he can’t stop laughing, how he stretches when he’s tired, fuck, I hadn’t even seen him yawn yet.

“It just depends on the body, Ry. They all change differently,” Brendon says and tears me away from my thoughts.

“Why does yours have to be the quickest?” He finally looks at me but won’t speak, brown eyes wide and somehow tarnished. I’m reminded of the time on the mountain when I asked him where he was from and he refused to tell me. Shows how much our relationship has grown since I’ve met him. “Brendon?” I try again, somewhat desperately.

He goes rigid underneath me, I can feel his abs tensing. His lips twitch, I watch him bite down on one corner. Then the quiet before the storm is over. “Because I screwed up, okay? Because my body isn’t as perfect as I’d thought. Because I didn’t take the time to do it right. Because I couldn’t- Fuck Ryan, I’m sorry, I-“

My head tilts downwards before he can say another word. I won’t let him beat himself up like that, I shouldn’t have forced him to say them. There’s no need for him to apologize. He’s perfect. Of course, I could simply say ‘stop’, but why would I when there’s another way to make him shut up?

His brown eyes grow lively again the moment our noses brush against each other and my lips hover over his. I can feel his breath on my face, and know he can feel mine on his.

We hold eye contact for a second. His eyes are so fucking beautiful. I don’t look down to his lips when I close the distance between us.

Soft, warm and perfect, just like the rest of him. His eyes close before mine can. His hand is placed on my back, pulling us closer than we already are. I can feel his fingers moving up and down against my spine, his hip bones pressing into my waist, mine against his thighs, until we readjust and they roll against each other. My right hand still holds his.

Brendon moans against my mouth. I take the opportunity and push my tongue in, explore the inside of his mouth before my tongue meets his. It rolls on top of mine and makes everything inside me prickle. There’s goosebumps on my tongue, I’m sure of it.

He smells of cold sweat and morning breath and I hope I do too, because it’s quickly becoming the most endearing scent in existence.

Our hearts beat fast and urgent, in rhythm with each other, like the rest of us.

His hand on my back travels upwards. The hair on my neck stands up where his fingertips dance over the skin. His fingers continue to cradle through my hair, pulling softly, pressing our mouths even closer together than I thought was possible.

I pull back to catch my breath, hear Brendon’s protest, and wish I had taken part in yesterday’s climbing activity after all, if only to improve my stamina by an extra second.

Brendon pulls on my hair again, cranes his neck up simultaneously, trying to merge us back together. He’s hard underneath me, I’m halfway there myself. I’m still in just my boxers, Brendon in his shorts and hoodie.  _ My _ shorts and hoodie. I think of how easy it’d be to undress him.

A moan escapes my lips. The words that have been sticking to my tongue like the plague slip out of my mouth and I can’t hold them back any longer. 

“I’m just glad you’re here now,” I say, voice raspy and fifty octaves lower.

Brendon’s eye light up with more than just lust and I have to pull the blanket over our heads, close my eyes again, and force myself not to think, to keep going.


	9. Beautiful

“So, that was just an episode or something?” Spencer clarifies. Brendon and I both nod.

“It’s just this weird reaction that runs in my family. If I don’t get enough calcium, bam, I turn cold like a Popsicle,” Brendon explains.

Meanwhile, there’s me, sitting next to Spencer at dinner, keeping the spoon for the pudding stuck in my mouth because I don’t trust my mouth anymore. Damn Brendon’s word choice. I don’t need images of me sucking him off like a Popsicle.

“Cold like a refrigerator.” The words I say have begun to just kind of form themselves. I have lost all control over my speech and actions. Maybe I’m the one going through an episode here. Sexual innuendo syndrome. 

Brendon looks at me confused. Spencer grins knowingly.

“It sounds less sexy than Popsicle,” Spencer informs him. “It’s easier for Ryan to change words in his head when he speaks them out loud.”

“What’s sexy about a Popsicle?”

I bury my face in my hands. “Just drop it,” I beg Brendon, and immediately start cursing my mouth for the hundredth time today.

“He means your shorts,” I hear Spencer’s laugh turn into a wince when I remove one of my hands from my face to punch him in the side.

“Ryan’s the one who forced me to wear shorts in the first place,” Brendon is kind enough to point out.

I stick my fingers into my ears and rest my forehead against the table. I can’t listen to this conversation anymore. My face feels hot enough to melt the table. I don’t even dare to look at Brendon, let alone speak with him.

I still feel guilty over my actions this morning. I shouldn’t have kissed Brendon. He’s running out of time and things to try on earth, so of course he didn’t reject me. Making out with me was just another paragraph in his book about human experiences. I used him for my own pleasure while he just wanted to find out what it’s like to live. God, my personality was getting past shitty at this point.  
There’s a nudge on my shoulder. I look up and see Spencer’s face, and behind him in the distance is Brendon throwing the remains of our food into the trash. The tall kid from yesterday is there too, chatting him up. I look back into Spencer’s penetrating blue eyes.

“Wanna tell me what’s up with you?” He asks me concerned.

“I made out with Brendon.” 

“Aaaand?” I shrug my shoulders. “Well, did you two fuck?” Spencer asks ever so eloquently.

“No. Spence, you don’t get it. He was sick. I shouldn’t have done anything with him in the first place.” I look down on my hands and knead them together. I feel myself blush again with shame, and avoid Spencer’s eyes.

“Ry, please don’t fucking ruin this for yourself. You like him, don’t you?”

“It’s that obvious, huh?” I mutter bitterly.

“As obvious as his crush on you.”

I look at him, surprised, not sure what made him say that. 

“Oh c’mon. He worships the ground you walk on.”

“That’s why he ends up standing by the garbage can.”

Spencer rolls his eyes at me. “At least tell him how you feel and stop sending him mixed signals. He’s been shooting me confused looks since dinner and I wish I could help him, but you won’t tell me what’s up with you either.”

“I’m sorry.” I don’t know what else to say. If there’s anything else to say. That I’m a fuckup, but Spencer knows that already.

 

Brendon and I walk back to our cabin in silence. I know he keeps looking at me, I can feel his eyes on me when he does, but it’s important that I’m staring at my shoes right now. Can’t risk tripping….or falling.

It’s a short walk, but in the end, I make up my mind, just as we both stop in front of our cabin door.

“Look Brendon,” I begin, still avoiding his eyes, because his emotions are like a fucking open book, just look into his eyes and there you go. I can’t stand to watch the transition in them as I speak, so I look at the rocks by our feet instead. Maybe they’ll understand, I already know Brendon won’t. “I’m sorry about this morning. I shouldn’t have touched you, or, well, kissed you. It was wrong. I know you want to live and try shit like that out, but I’m just not the right person. I’m really fucking sorry, Brendon.”

I fish the key out of my pocket and turn my back to Brendon, trying to unlock the door, even though my hands are shaking like there’s an earthquake inside me.

“Ryan?” I almost don’t hear him when he whispers my name. I turn around. Yep, there it is, the hurt in his eyes. It’s starting to become a familiar look on him and I hate myself for being its causation. I quickly look back down to the rocks. “I’m sorry I touched you too,” Brendon continues. “I know you said you didn’t like it, but I thought it was okay. I’m sorry I misinterpreted your actions.”

Wait, what? Why was Brendon apologizing?

“You’ve done nothing wrong,” I blurb out, shocked he’d even think that.

“But you just said you didn’t like it when we touched. That it’s wrong.” There’s a sniffing sound, his voice sounds cut off. I’m terrified of what I’d find in his eyes were I to look at him right now.

“Bren, no, that’s not what I said at all. I mean that you deserve better. If you make out with someone, you’re supposed to like them.”

“You don’t like me?”

“No, I do. I meant you. You shouldn’t kiss me just because you’re scared you’ll leave before you get the chance to do it with someone you actually like.”

“But I like you.”

“Like, like. As in love and shit.”

“And then what?” Brendon asks. He sounds curious. I’m glad he finally understands what I’m trying to tell him. Maybe he’s thinking of kissing that tall boy. Or maybe he’s not even into guys and is thinking of one   
of the girls that keep flirting with him. Either way, I feel a lot better just knowing he doesn’t feel obliged to kiss me anymore. No matter how much I want to kiss him.

“Well, then, when you find the person that you like, and they like you back, then it’s okay to kiss, and, you know, do other stuff with them.”

Brendon doesn’t respond to that, so I go back to trying to unlock the door.

The cabin key falls down on the ground and is replaced by his fingers.

Brendon snatches my wrist, spins me around, and pins me against the door with his lips. Despite its roughness in action, his lips are timid on mine, coaxing them open, only so. His tongue invades me, I taste chocolate pudding in my mouth when I swipe my tongue over his. His cheek is wet against mine. ‘I’m sorry,’ I want to say, ‘I never meant to hurt you’. But his lips are still locked with mine, forbidding me to speak and making me moan in silence.

He pulls back a second later and lets go of my wrist. I miss his touch already.

“Like that?” Brendon asks, a strand of hair falls into his face and I focus my attention on that instead of anything that just happened. I don’t completely understand what he’s asking but I nod regardless, still too shocked to speak.

“I like you, Ryan. I hope someday you’ll understand why.”

I don’t ask Brendon to tell me why. I doubt I’d be able to stand to hear it.

Brendon smiles, albeit a bit sad at me. He bends over to pick up the keys and unlocks the door.

 

The moment it shuts behind us, I’m on Brendon’s bed, with him on top of me.

“Your skin is getting colder again,” I point out when his hands reach underneath my shirt and I feel his palms sliding over my stomach. I should probably switch over to dirty talk by now and not medical conditions. 

Sure, Brendon’s made it clear he’s okay with us making out, but I still can’t fucking relax and not feel responsible for his actions.

“Ryan?” Brendon’s nibbling on my earlobe, while his hips are slowly thrusting against mine in a circular motion. I was set on thinking Brendon was a virgin, but his movements are making me want to change my mind.

“Ryan?” He asks again. Brendon nudges my jaw with his nose when I’m too distracted with the sensation of him touching me all over the place to form a cohesive response.

“Hmmm?” I purr, and find my hands grasping Brendon’s ass and enjoying the feel of it. I quickly let go, letting my hands trail down the back of his thighs, until they rest behind his knees.

“You’re beautiful.” I look at him, let Brendon’s eyes genuinely bore into my soul, while I’m fighting the feeling to not push him off of me. I let him kiss me instead.

“Beautiful,” he says again quietly, but his voice is too clear to consider it as muttering. There’s another kiss following after his words.

“Beautiful,” he tilts his head down for the third time, but I turn away.

“Stop saying that. Please,” I whisper. I hope Brendon understands, but know it’s too much to ask. My heart is ready to explode, Brendon should be able to feel it beating against his chest.

But Brendon pulls away and sits up, straddling me without the sexual touch. “I just can’t figure out what you want.”

A weak smile appears on my face. “Neither can I.”

“Then let me help you,” he says, searching my face with a lost expression. 

“I don’t need help!” The words come out harsher than I wanted them to, and Brendon pulls back even further. “Look, I’m sorry,” I apologize, trying to erase the hurt in his eyes. “I just need to process what’s   
happening. I mean this morning I thought you were dying.”

Brendon seems to contemplate this for a while. I take my hands off of his legs and let them rest by his side before Brendon takes a hold of both and entwines our fingers again. His thumb is running up and down my wrist while we stay on his bed in silence.

My own head is a tumult of feelings and thoughts, half of which I wish I didn’t have. There’s nothing I’d rather have than Brendon, naked, on top of me. I’ve fantasized about it too often to not feel certain of this fact. But I never actually thought of it as something plausible, a scenario that was unlikely to ever mash up with reality. 

Maybe I needed more time to get used to this. Get used to us. But there wasn't enough time before Brendon had to go back and we didn’t have enough time to not rush this.

Brendon was moving on top of me and it looked like he was trying to get off the bed.

“What are you doing?”

He blushes. “I’m getting cold sitting here. I was just going to take the blanket on your bed, since we’re kind of on top of mine.”

Instantly, I stop worrying about my sex life and start worrying about Brendon’s health again. 

“Shit, why didn’t you say anything? Here,” I lift my hips and pull the blanket underneath me up. “Lay down, I’ll get the other blanket.” 

I’m a bit surprised when Brendon actually obliges and pulls the blanket over his body. 

I go grab the other blanket and the hoodie Brendon gave back to me, swearing he wouldn’t need it any time soon. Jokes on me for believing him and casting hope.

I drape the second blanket over the first and tell Brendon to put the hoodie back on. He does and looks up at me expectantly. I notice his skin paling and the slight shiver in his body.

“Do you need anything else? I can probably sneak back into the instructor’s office and get you some tea,” I offer.

“No,” Brendon shakes his head. “I should be okay. I was just- well, where are you going to sleep?”

“In my bed,” I respond without given it any thought.

“You don’t have a blanket,” Brendon points out. He bites his lip, debating what to say next. “You know, if you want to, you can always sleep here. It’d be warmer with you next to me.”

It’s my turn to bite my lip. What’s the worst that could happen, Ryan? Brendon’s right, I could help keep him warm.

“Okay,” I say, quickly, before I change my mind, and slip under the covers. My arm wraps around Brendon almost instinctively and it scares me how much his body temperature has dropped in such a short period of time.

“Goodnight, Ry,” Brendon whispers, once he’s comfortable snuggling against me, his entire body pressed against mine.

I press a small kiss to the top of his head. For the first time, this doesn’t feel wrong. Maybe tomorrow we can try again. Maybe I can let Brendon in before he has to leave. 

Small tremors go through Brendon’s body and I feel each little vibrations. “Stay warm, okay?” I ask. I just need to hear Brendon’s confirmation. Need to be assured he’s going to be okay.

“Stay beautiful, Ry.” 

“I’m trying,” I whisper. I really am. I want Brendon. I just need to let him want me too.

“So am I,” Brendon says, before his breathing evens out and his eyes flutter shut. He’s still shaking in his sleep, no matter how close and tight I hold him.


End file.
